Foxbat

computer for processing, and is then displayed on the Command Center’s eight large wall screens at the same time as it’s shown on video monitors positioned in front of CINCSTRAT, the senior battle staff and the Warning Systems Controller.

Data on the trajectory and predicted target area undergo a one-minute ‘confidence rating’ check, and once it’s clear that the missile is real – that is, not resulting from some form of computer-induced glitch or bad data – CINCSTRAT can launch additional aircraft for national survival and pass on advisory and preparatory information to his strategic assets. The order to retaliate with a strategic nuclear strike has to be issued by the President himself, to be relayed then by USStratCom. CINCSTRAT alone cannot make that decision.

‘OK, everything looks fine from here.’ General Winchester returned his gaze to his console, while speaking into his headset microphone. ‘Senior Controller, call the roll.’

For the third time that afternoon, Lieutenant-General Virgil Neuberger moved the trackball and sent the cursor spinning across the screen. He selected ‘Strategic Assets’, clicked ‘OK’ and began to read the figures into the command group intercom.

‘Submarines, first. We have eleven SSBNs on patrol, with two more preparing to sail within the next twelve hours – one from Kings Bay, Georgia, the other from Bangor, Washington. All have been passed coordinates for their targets in North Korea if this thing does turn to rat-shit. The other five SSBNs are in maintenance or deep refit, and so can’t be deployed within the time available.

‘Land-based missile forces are fully briefed and their alert status has been increased from ninety minutes’ notice to sixty minutes’ for launch. Of the five hundred Minuteman Three missiles, only twenty-three have been reported as unserviceable. Eighteen of these have minor software or other faults, which have been assessed as capable of rectification within six hours. Five have major faults, which would take over thirty hours to fix.’

‘That’s not a bad turnout,’ Winchester interrupted. ‘Where are those missiles with major faults located?’

Neuberger paused for barely a second before replying. ‘One each at F E Warren and Minot, and three at Malmstrom in Montana. Interestingly,’ he added, ‘the minor faults are similarly spread – three at F E Warren, five at Minot and the other ten at Malmstrom.’

‘OK, we’ll make a note of that. It sounds like somebody at Malmstrom’s falling down on the job, so maybe I’ll send a few no-notice inspection teams over to Montana once this party’s over. What about the bombers?’

‘Barksdale is reporting four per cent of their B-52s unserviceable, and Minot has three per cent out of action. Whiteman reports only one B-2 unserviceable. On Guam, which is probably where our immediate response would originate if the North Koreans do decide to cross the line, Andersen reports all aircraft serviceable.’

‘So, in summary, we’re in pretty good shape,’ Winchester concluded. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have to take this all the way to the wire.’

MV Kang San 3, North Pacific Ocean

It had been, by any standards, an unusual voyage.

The two three-thousand-ton cargo ships – the Kang San 5 was in company – had sailed from Wonsan over a month earlier. They’d each had their normal complement embarked, but both were additionally crewed by ten soldiers, all under the command of a chung-yong, or lieutenant-colonel, on the Kang San 3. All the military personnel had been armed, and the ships’ captains had been visited at Wonsan by a senior government official and been instructed to obey their orders without question.

A week before the ships sailed, an armed convoy had appeared at the Wonsan dockyard and a large crate had been loaded into the forward hold of the Kang San 3. The hold had then been locked, and a relay of soldiers posted on guard outside.

The ships had headed south into the East China Sea, passed east of the island of Taiwan, and continued south to Legaspi in the Philippines. They’d taken on maximum fuel and off-loaded most of their cargo of cement, embarked several hundred bales of cloth destined for merchants in Papua New Guinea, and sailed again.

Their next port of call had been Lae, on the east coast of that island. Once the cloth had been unloaded and they’d again filled their bunkers, the two ships had set off without embarking any fresh cargo. They’d steamed north-east through Micronesia, past the Marshall Islands and on across the open expanse of the Pacific Ocean to Honolulu. After refuelling, they sailed again, heading east-north-east in the general direction of Los Angeles. They kept well clear of all the main shipping routes, because that was the way the planners in Pyongyang wanted it.

When they reached a position about fifteen hundred nautical miles north-east of Hawaii, the captain of the Kang San 3 was handed a sealed envelope by the chung- yong.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, as he read the orders a second time.

‘You don’t have to, captain,’ chung-yong Lee Kyung-Soon replied. ‘All you have to do is obey. Do you have any questions about your instructions?’

‘No, but—’

Lee shook his head. ‘Then we understand each other. Order your crew to prepare to abandon ship immediately.’ Through the bridge window he pointed at the Kang San 5, a quarter of a mile off the starboard bow, which was visibly slowing down in preparation to receive the crew of her sister ship. ‘I will join you myself once I’ve completed my final tasks on board.’

As the captain made a broadcast to alert the crew for action, Lee headed down the companionway from the bridge and made his way to the forward hold. The two soldiers on guard outside saluted him as he approached, and unlocked the watertight steel door. Inside the hold, he headed across to a wooden crate that was the only thing the cargo space now contained, loosened six turn-buckles that held one of its sides in place, and dropped the panel to the floor.

In the crate was a bulky spherical object trailing wires and cables, with a basic control panel partially obscuring it, apparently inactive, since none of the lights was illuminated. On the floor of the crate were two large dry-cell batteries, terminals already connected, with a series-fitted master-switch screwed to the side of the crate.

Lee reached inside and turned the switch. Immediately the control panel sprang to life, lights illuminating and dials registering. He checked the instrumentation against a printed list clipped below the panel, then began running through a series of actions to ensure that all the circuits were fully functional.

Satisfied that the instrumentation was registering correctly, he moved to the second and final phase of his task. He turned his attention to a small alphanumeric keyboard located directly below a ten-inch TFT panel and fed in a six-digit code that he’d been instructed to memorize at his last briefing in Pyongyang. The panel lit up and a menu appeared that Lee methodically worked his way down.

The penultimate item on the list was a communication check, and Lee simply selected ‘radio’ and checked that the built-in receiver was getting a signal from the Kang San 5, where the lieutenant had been instructed to broadcast music on a specific frequency. The tiny speaker immediately began emitting sounds definitely not to Lee’s taste, but that didn’t matter.

He keyed the frequency he’d been instructed to use, and checked twice to ensure that he’d got it right. That done, he made a final visual check of the entire apparatus before he turned away and walked out.

On deck, he opened his briefcase and extracted a satellite telephone and GPS receiver. He noted the position the GPS was recording, then made a thirty-second telephone call, before making his way towards the waiting lifeboat.

Forty minutes later, the Kang San 5 began a slow turn to the west, towards the distant Midway Islands, and began picking up speed, leaving her deserted sister ship now dead and silent, wallowing in the long swell.

HMS Illustrious, Yellow Sea

The flight deck of the Illustrious was a scene of noisy, but clearly organized, chaos. Without ear defenders, the roar of jet engines was deafening, and Richter’s nostrils immediately filled with the unmistakable smell of burning kerosene. Two Sea Harriers were waiting at the aft end of the deck, their